


Mistreated

by thefairyknight



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Murder, F/M, double standards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:51:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairyknight/pseuds/thefairyknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Roland decides to go a little less 'Midsummer Night's Dream' and a little more 'Hans from Frozen' with his contingency plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistreated

 

 

The mushrooms whispered. There was a fairy in the forest.

An injured fairy in the forest.

 

~

 

Roland stared, grimly, at the party he had been ejected from, puzzling over his dilemma. It hadn’t worked. He’d been on his knees – literally on his knees – and _begging_ , and Marianne hadn’t even faltered. Not for a minute. There’d been nothing but anger in her voice and disdain in her eyes. Even his singing hadn’t helped.

He could see it all slipping away from him. His dream. His army. His crown.

He was so focused that he didn’t even notice the elf in the same room as him, instead concentrating on his own swirling thoughts. There _had_ to be a way. There wasn’t a fairy in the kingdom he couldn’t win over… except, it seemed, Marianne. And Marianne was the heir. She was the route to the crown.

There wasn’t any changing that.

Unless there was.

He paused, simultaneously surprised that he was even considering it, and surprised that he hadn’t considered it sooner. There was more than one princess, after all. And Dawn was _considerably_ warmer than Marianne. Especially these days. Cheerful, bubbly, and couldn’t throw much of a punch at all. Marianne was beautiful but _whoo boy_ , that personality. Even when she’d been smitten with him, she’d grated on more than a few of his nerves.

What kind of a princess played with swords, after all? The king had spoiled her. It had given her all the wrong ideas.

Dangerous ideas. Ideas that’d be bad for the kingdom in the long run, make no mistake. Princesses weren’t supposed to be so bold, so angry, so… heartless. They were supposed to be soft, delicate, submissive. They were supposed to help their husbands rule, not the other way around. Dawn. Dawn, he could work with. Now there was a girl who acted like one. But Marianne?

Well, it just couldn’t stand. He’d given her a chance. But it was pretty plain that she was a loose cannon. A wild beast that couldn’t be tamed.

Really, as awful as the whole idea was, he’d probably be doing the whole kingdom a favour. At the rate she was going, she’d land some meek, submissive lord’s son for a husband, and trample all over him. Or – worse yet – try and rule _alone._

The kingdom would fall in a fortnight. They’d be overrun with goblins. And Marianne would probably open the door to chit-chat with them. Or try and fight them off single-handedly, and either way she’d end up dead. Probably eaten alive.

It would be a kindness, to spare her that fear and pain. To just… take her out of the equation, for everyone’s sakes. A tragedy, no doubt about it. But one the kingdom could recover from. Poor Dawn. He’d be there for her, to cry her tears on, to mourn alongside her because, in his own way, he _was_ fond of Marianne. If only he’d planned a little better. If only he’d considered that she might come looking for him. If only she’d given him another chance.

But, done was done, and the course of action left to him was becoming increasingly clear.

It was a shame. She really was quite a beauty.

That crown was going to look spectacular with his hair, though.

 

~

 

It’d been a strange week, for Marianne.

Of course, after Roland had had the nerve to come sauntering back, a little tension was to be expected. The day after their big blowout, she’d felt euphoric, and then disgusted, flip-flopping between satisfaction at finally having it out with him, and mortification that she’d ever fallen for his ‘charms’ to begin with.

Finally, in a flurry of anger, she’d decided to take her frustrations out with a little sword practice. Pretending that blueberries were Roland’s head always managed to lift her mood.

But then she’d gotten back to her rooms only to find a package waiting for her; a box of rosewater chocolates, from an ‘anonymous admirer’.

Tch. Roland, of course. No one else in the court would dare ‘admire’ her these days. No one else was too thick-skulled to catch a clue.

She’d taken the box, found the biggest puddle she could, and dropped the whole thing straight in.

That was when things really started to get bizarre.

The gifts from ‘admirers’ kept piling up. Cookies, cakes, brownies, perfumes, soaps. She rejected them all, and finally, utterly fed-up, went to go and confront Roland herself. She vowed to get the message through no matter how hard she had to beat it in.

But Roland adamantly insisted that the gifts weren’t from him.

“Marianne, I’d do anything to get you to forgive me,” he said. “But you made your position mighty clear. I can tell when I’m not welcome. Besides, I prefer to do my courting in person.”

Much as it grated her, that was… reasonable. And Roland really _had_ never been much for leaving anonymous gifts or letters or anything like that. There’d been a quality of insincerity to his words, but was that because he was lying, or because she couldn’t help but _think_ he was lying every time she talked to him now? And if he had been sending her gifts to try and win her back, why would he deny it? Why would he keep it a secret?

But then, if it wasn’t Roland, that meant she had some poor lordling or another to dissuade, and that was a whole new headache she didn’t need.

It wasn’t as though she wanted to be _unkind._ She just wasn’t interested in anyone, at all, and never would be. Why was that so hard for people to understand? Her father worried about her ruling without a king, but it wasn’t like she needed to get married to avoid being alone. Even after he was… gone… she would still have Dawn, and her handmaids, and the court advisors. If things kept going along their current trajectory, eventually Dawn would pick one of her myriad of suitors to settle down with, and then one of her nieces or nephews could inherit the throne.

It was simple. And yet it seemed like the whole kingdom couldn’t take a hint, even when it was less a ‘hint’ than a giant ‘NO’ sign that she kept hitting people over the head with.

The castle servants were surprisingly little help. Apparently, the packages just tended to show up in the daily mail pile, and were sent to her rooms as addressed.

Which showed a terrible lack of security measures. Marianne immediately brought the matter to her father’s attention, only to be rebuffed.

“Dangerous?” he scoffed. “A few trinkets from some besotted admirer? Oh, Marianne.”

“But what if they were poisoned or something?” she persisted.

“Who would want to poison us?” he replied. Then he seemed to reconsider, for a moment, and she let herself feel an inkling of hope – until he shook his head, as if banishing a foolish notion. “No, anything from the Dark Forest would be obvious, and none of our own subjects would ever wish us harm.”

“You’re being naïve!” she snapped.

He sighed.

“Marianne… young men can be foolish,” he said, and she blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by the apparent non sequitur.

“…Yes…?” she tentatively agreed. Because that was certainly true, although she would hesitate to imply that young women or old men were somehow _immune_ to foolishness. It seemed a fairly universal trait, in fact, across generational and cultural barriers throughout the kingdom. Marianne herself had succumbed to it.

“In the prime of youth, flights of fancy can often be followed to disastrous ends…”

“Please tell me this is not about Roland.”

Her father sighed again.

“I fear that ever since you cancelled your wedding, all of this has been about Roland,” he said, and she reeled back as if struck.

One of her fists clenched.

_“This_ is about safety!” she insisted. “This is about people being able to send whatever they want up to the palace and have it sitting inside a royal bedroom within minutes! You don’t think that’s a problem?”

“Fear is a problem, Marianne,” he replied, steadily. “Not letting go of the past, and refusing to move forward, is a problem. Gifts are not a problem. Trust is not a problem.”

Not moving forward? Not _moving forward?_ When some days it felt like she was the _only_ one who wasn’t still clinging to the person she used to be, back before everything had been flipped on its head? She had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something she would regret.

“You don’t understand,” she gritted out instead.

Her father’s hand felt too heavy on her shoulder, weighted, as if somehow her independence and vigilance were exhausting to him.

“I think I do. Your mother and I both courted freely in our day. Circumstances allowed for plenty of mishaps and misunderstandings. Why, I had to go after her on my knees a time or two myself,” he told her, and for a moment his voice was fond with memory. “And she made me work for every inch of forgiveness she gave me. I wouldn’t expect you to do any less. But in the heat of your anger, you mustn’t lose sight of what’s important.”

With a snarl of frustration, she shrugged off his touch.

“I know what’s important!” she insisted. “You’re important. Dawn’s important. This kingdom is important. _That’s_ why I’m here!”

She could tell by the expression on his face that she wasn’t getting through, however, and with another snarl, she took off with enough ferocity to dislodge a nearby bumblebee from its perch.

When she got back to her rooms, it was to discover another package waiting for her – something floral and silly that she barely looked twice at before she scooped it up, carted it into the middle of the village, and dumped it into the first fire pit she could find.

After that, she went to the servants and commanded, in no uncertain terms, that anonymous packages were no longer to be delivered to the royal chambers, but were to instead be destroyed upon discovery. Dawn was furious.

“You’re not the only person with admirers, Marianne!” she protested, practically vibrating with frustration. “Why can’t you just – just _appreciate_ things?!”

“Because it’s dangerous,” Marianne insisted.

Dawn let out an aggravated breath.

“I can’t believe you! This is nuts. What the heck did Roland even _do?”_

“This isn’t about Roland!” she found herself snapping for what felt like the umpteenth time.

“Pfft. You don’t _actually_ think you’re fooling me, do you?” Dawn asked.

“I don’t know why I even bother trying to reason with you,” Marianne muttered back.

“What was that?”

“I _said_ , I know why I even bother trying to reason with you! Or Father! I swear, some days it’s like you’re both floating through the clouds, pretending this kingdom runs on wishes and goodwill. It’s like you think there aren’t any bad people in our borders! No, all the _bad_ people must be in the Dark Forest, because it’s not like a fairy could ever _lie_ or betray the royal family or anything.”

Dawn planted her hands on her hips.

“We’re not _stupid_ , Marianne!” she replied, hotly. “We’re just not _bitter._ ”

She paused, surprised at how much that stung, and Dawn’s expression turned remorseful.

“I didn’t mean…” her sister began.

“Yes you did,” she replied. “And you’re not… totally wrong. But, neither am I.”

Dawn didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Marianne wasn’t sure either, and after a minute, she winged away, wondering how it was that she’d come out of Roland’s treachery only to find _herself_ being painted as the unreasonable one.

The week didn’t improve much as it went along, either.

Though the gifts stopped, she seemed to run into a mess of bad luck afterwards. Somehow her usual training grounds found itself home to a wasp’s nest, which took her three solid hours of fighting to clear out, and then it seemed like everywhere she went there was some unexpected spider’s web or mud trap or rockslide waiting for her. By the time she found herself fending off a rabid bat that had somehow gotten onto the palace grounds, she was exhausted, bruised, and furious.

“What the _heck_ is going on?” she grumbled to herself, collapsing into her rose petal bed.

Something sharp pricked her hand.

“Ouch,” she muttered, shifting around to glare at the sluggish drop of blood oozing from her palm, and then looking for the culprit. Her sword was off being repaired, and so were most of her knives, actually. She blinked in surprise when her search turned up a thorn. She found a few more scattered within the petals, all upturned so that their points would likely be the first thing anyone knew of them.

Her bed was replaced every time it wilted, so her first thought was that some servant had done a poor job of preparing this one. But the thorns looked… wrong. They were dark and twisted black instead of green, and too small for the type they grew in the rose bushes.

A deep sigh from behind drew her attention away from them, and when she turned she fairly flew halfway across the room. Only her exhaustion kept her from it, and she stumbled partway instead.

_“Roland?”_ she snapped.

The fairy in question was standing next to her vanity. Perfectly quaffed hair and shining armour, as always.

“You know, I have to give credit where it’s due, Marianne. You really are a tenacious little thing,” he said, not even pausing to be distracted by his own reflection.

“Get out!” she demanded, pointing vehemently towards the nearest window. “You’re not allowed to be in here. You weren’t even allowed to be in here when we were engaged!”

She meant to speak with all the force she could muster, but somehow it was surprisingly tricky to manage. She was too tired for this, by far. Even more tired than she thought.

“Feeling alright, darlin’?” Roland asked, utterly ignoring her order.

Marianne turned aghast eyes towards the thorn she’d pricked her hand on.

“What?” she asked. “What did… you…?”

It shouldn’t have been surprising. It _shouldn’t_ have been. Roland was a creep, but still, she’d never thought… not really…

“I did what I had to do. Y’know, this would have been a lot easier if you just could have been reasonable from the start. Or if you could have acted even remotely normal at some point. Do you know how many _attempts_ I’ve made?” Roland told her, taking a step forward. Suddenly all his gleam and glamour seemed far more _menacing_ than it had any business seeming, that obnoxious conceit of his taking on a dangerous edge.

Marianne made a snap decision. Her sword was gone, she only had a single knife in her boot, and her strength was fading fast.

She bolted for the window.

But Roland must have been expecting that.

He caught her. Not before she managed to punch him in the jaw, at least.

“The _face,_ for real?!” he snarled, grasping her wrists tight enough to bruise.

She kicked at him, but up close against armour, a few kicks couldn’t do her much good. The skin on her injured hand was starting to burn, and her stomach was starting to revolt. She entertained the dim hope that maybe she might throw up on him – he would probably let go if she did that, even if just reflexively, he was terrible at dealing with gross things – and spots began to dance behind her eyelids.

“C’mon, Marianne,” Roland said. “You’re done.”

She flared her wings out, wrenched back as hard as she could, and managed to smack him one more time before the world tipped upside-down and she went out like a light.

 

~

 

Roland scowled down at his ex-fiancee.

She’d hit him.

Twice.

In the _same dang spot._

He was mad enough to spit, and what was worse, she’d left a mark on him.

It was one thing for the crown princess to turn up dead under mysterious circumstances. It was another thing for her to turn up dead under mysterious circumstances when the guy she’d very recently and very publicly rejected was sporting inexplicable new bruises. People would ask _questions._ People would get suspicious.

_Dawn_ would get suspicious.

He couldn’t have an ounce of that.

“Well this is a fine mess you’ve made of things,” he groused at Marianne’s unconscious form. A second dose of the poison would kill her. He’d meant to administer it after getting some of his own back in a conversation with her. He should’ve known she wouldn’t be cooperative even when she had enough blackthorn venom to knock out a squirrel running through her system. At least it would keep her out of commission for a while.

But it was too late to abort. As soon as she woke up she’d sound the alarm, and then he wouldn’t just lose his army or his crown, it’d be his neck on the line, too.

No, Marianne had to die. But the details – those would have to change. ‘Inconspicuous’ was no longer on the table.

Roland carefully considered his options. In a few hours it would be nightfall, and the palace would be dark. Marianne, exhausted from her recent battle, probably wouldn’t be missed at dinner. Most of the court would be inside and the servants would be busy – the perfect time to slip away.

Decided, Roland settled in to wait for the cover of darkness.

 

~

 

For the record, Dawn loved her sister.

Also for the record, Marianne had always been a bit… weird.

Not, like, crazy weird or random weird, but just not totally normal. For one thing there was the unusual preoccupation with swords. And diplomacy. Which probably didn’t count as weird for a princess and the heir to the throne, but Marianne wanted to talk to _everyone_ , she even _liked_ sitting in on councils and that was maybe a good thing but it was definitely not standard. Who liked to be shut in with a bunch of stuffy adults, listening to everyone talk about territory disputes and crop yields?

Probably the most normal thing Marianne had ever done was fall in love with Roland, but somehow that had managed to go completely sideways, too.

Dawn wasn’t stupid. She listened to rumours and she could put two and two together, especially when the guy in question had dropped to his knees and started belting out about a ‘passing fling’. But she still didn’t know what _exactly_ had happened to drive Marianne so… so… _bonkers._

Had she heard the wrong rumour? Had she caught Roland with somebody? Was there a fight? Was it all, as Roland insisted, a misunderstanding, or had he hurt Marianne?

Well, that last one she could answer, at least. Misunderstanding or not, Marianne had _definitely_ been hurt.

The thing was, Dawn wasn’t entirely sure if getting back together with Roland would fix that hurt, or if putting his head on a spike would. Marianne seemed to be pretty distinctly in favour of the spike, but then, Marianne _was weird._ So Dawn wasn’t wholly sure if her judgment could be trusted. Especially since she’d apparently disavowed the entire concept of love, which, in Dawn’s opinion, seemed pretty overkill, even if she’d walked in on Roland locked in a heated embrace with three other fairies and a woodchuck.

Ugh. Now _there_ was a mental image she regretted.

Anyway, point was, Dawn couldn’t confidently say whether or not Roland was the scum of the earth or if he’d just stumbled headlong into Marianne’s bad side. Mostly, one way or another, she just really wanted this over-protective, over-armoured, over-aggressive phase of her sister’s to be _done_ with so that she could go back to doing whatever she felt like without having a perpetual Marianne-shaped storm cloud hovering over her shoulder, and Marianne could go back to giving people the benefit of the doubt and smiling and having _fun_ again.

In the meantime, she was kind of tempted to avoid the whole thing. So when her sister didn’t show up for dinner that night, she was kind of relieved.

“Where’s Marianne?” she asked their father, nevertheless.

“Resting,” he replied. “I understand she had a hectic day.”

“Oh,” Dawn said, content to leave it at that, and to spend the rest of the meal trying to catch the eye of a handsome page boy.

She didn’t think she’d ever stop feeling guilty about that.

 

~

 

Marianne opened her eyes to the dark.

Everything felt… wrong.

She sucked in a breath, and wondered where the stars had come from. It was hard to think. Her skin felt like it was on fire. Was she sick? But then, why was she outside? She swallowed back a groan and turned her head. Her vision swam. Somewhere far off, crickets chirped, and there was somebody moving around just in the corner of her eye.

Who?

Green armour in the moonlight, bright hair, bright wings.

Oh. Roland.

Memory surged back and Marianne stiffened, fighting for focus past the throbbing in her temples. Roland. Roland had poisoned her with that thorn. And then she’d tried to fly away, and he’d caught her. It’d been daylight then. Where were they? How much time had passed?

Was that fear making her heart beat like a drum in her chest, or was it the poison?

A footstep crunched closer, and after a half second of thought, Marianne jerked up as quick as she could and started to fly.

Her stomach lurched and her wing muscles shrieked in protest. And they weren’t the only things protesting, either, as Roland gave a cry of outrage. It was dark and nearly impossible to see, and she had no idea where she was or what direction she was flying in, but right then, anywhere that counted as ‘away from the crazy murderous ex’ seemed like a good idea.

Something swerved towards her and she lashed out, kicking, her bare foot striking something hard with a satisfying _clang_ that nevertheless set her teeth rattling. She crashed into something – brambles? – and gasped as her wings were pricked, before she tore herself free, tumbling down until wet leaves smacked against her and her knees scraped the ground.

Her wings battered against the stem of an unfamiliar plant, and something soft brushed against the side of her face before she smacked it away, flailing in panic, stumbling on foot until the sounds of pursuit had stopped. Mud and muck caught at her calves.

“Marianne?” Roland called.

She froze, heart hammering. A weapon. She needed a weapon. In the moonlight she glimpsed the outline of a twig, and grasped it, holding it with shaking hands. Her muscles were trembling. Poison or exhaustion or adrenaline or all three.

“Darling, now, come on out,” Roland crooned, and his voice moved slowly behind her, someplace a little higher up and to her left.

Marianne stayed right where she was, thank you very much.

“I know I’ve frightened you. But listen, I’ve been thinking about it, and I think both of us might have been actin’ a bit hasty. Rash. Love… makes you crazy! I mean, you know I’d never _really_ go through with it, don’t you?”

He was getting closer. Marianne pressed her wings back as tightly as she could, hoping they wouldn’t catch the moonlight and give her away.

“Marianne, look. You’re sick. You’re confused. You probably don’t even realize this, but you just flew off into the Dark Forest. The _Dark Forest,_ Marianne! Now what do you think the odds are you’re going to be able to find your way out of here all on your own?”

A lot better than the odds that she’d find her way out with _his_ ‘help’.

Ordinarily, the knowledge that she was in the Dark Forest would have given her sincere pause. It was a place with reputation, after all, and not an undeserved one. One of her lifelong dreams was to open diplomatic talks with the Dark Forest, but the truth was, that hadn’t happened yet, and was nowhere close to happening soon. And in the meantime, all kinds of vicious creatures lived there.

But right then, the only vicious creature she was bothered about was from her own kingdom.

“Wise men say… only fools rush in…”

Right behind her. With a cry of outrage, Marianne whirled out of her hiding place, and swung.

She struck home, and sent Roland staggering, but he was on his feet again all too quickly. His sword arm lashed out and pain flared in her side. Gasping in pain, she clasped a hand over the wound, but kept her wits about her well enough to swing for his face.

Roland dodged back, predictably, desperate to protect his most prized possession, and she seized the opportunity to flee again.

Retreating grated on her, but even she could see that he had her at a severe disadvantage.

Around her the Dark Forest was an alien maze. Strange plants snapped at her heels and she crashed through more than one spider web, she was sure, and at one point she thought she might have glimpsed a mushroom with eyes, but most of her focus was eaten up by the sheer effort of keeping her wings pumping and her lungs working as her blood seeped through her fingers, and the sounds of pursuit eventually – _eventually –_ fell away behind her.

Still, she flew until she no longer could. Until her wings gave out and she crashed, falling amidst serpentine ferns that twisted under their own power, the moon high overhead.

 

~

 

Roland cursed his luck as he lost track of Marianne.

One fairy princess! One drugged, _injured_ fairy princess, and yet, because it was _Marianne_ , she couldn’t just do the sensible thing and give up. Oh _no,_ she had to fight back, had to drag him all the way out here and force his hand, and then take off and somehow _evade him_ , because the Dark Forest was a cesspool of distractions.

Infuriated, he hacked at the nearest fern frond until it was reduced to pieces. He might have kept going, but that was around about the time he noticed the eyes, watching from the shadows, and heard the scurrying overhead, and figured a tactical withdrawal was probably in order.

What a disaster.

Roland flew back to the safety of the border as quickly as he could manage, and only began to let his guard down once he hit the open fields.

His plan – already in shambles – was getting more tattered by the minute. But, he consoled himself, it probably wasn’t _that_ big of a hiccup.

After all, he’d dragged Marianne out here so he could frame the goblins for her death, and while the ‘death’ part may have been even more… delayed than anticipated, she was injured, alone, and in the _Dark Forest._ No matter how contrary that little princess was, sooner or later she’d run out of steam, and then, pow – goblin chow.

Terrible way to go. Roland kind of regretted that. But it was her own fault – if she’d just been cooperative from the beginning, _none_ of this would have happened!

Yes. Okay. The re-revised plan was still a go.

Nodding to himself, Roland cleaned off his blade, sheathed it, and began gathering some sufficiently sinister-looking plants and detritus to leave in a trail between the forest and the palace. He’d been in the middle of doing that before Marianne had decided to defy standard poisoning conventions and wake up like ten hours too early.

Though it pained him to do so, Roland also took care to make sure he looked sufficiently roughed-up, too, and then set about scattering his clues. Laying the trail took longer than he would have liked, and by the time he finished, the sky was starting to brighten.

It was almost perfect, though, as, once he was satisfied, he burst through the palace doors, affecting his very best look of weariness, horror, and simmering outrage. One of the servants jumped nearly ten feet, and one of the guards snapped to attention.

“Murderers!” he howled. “Brigands! Oh, Marianne, my _Marianne…!”_

In no time at all he was being hustled in front of the king, who was still clad in his pyjamas, and he fell to his knees for dramatic effect.

“Your majesty, I was too late! I saw the shadows and _I knew_ something was wrong, but I just, I never could have imagined they’d go so far! A gaggle of goblins, scaling the tower!”

The king looked white as a sheet, but nodded for him to continue. Roland wrenched at the empty air in demonstrative misery. It was almost a shame that no one would ever know this was a performance, because in his opinion, it was his best one yet.

“I gave chase,” he insisted. “Fast as my wings could carry me. I would have roused the guard, but I recognized that flash of purple, sire, I would have known that colour anywhere, and I knew there was no time. Oh, Marianne…”

“My daughter. What’s happened to my daughter?” the king insisted.

Roland wailed.

“They were kidnapping her. For what nefarious purpose, I don’t know. She must’ve been drugged, or worse, but just when they got to the border, she, she woke up! My poor darlin’. She must’ve been scared out of her mind. She fought back, you see, and they didn’t like that. I drew my sword, I threw myself into the fray, but more came pouring out of the shadows! They must’ve been lying in wait. There were dozens of them, sire. I cut through as many as I could, but I… I…”

“Roland,” the king said, his voice hoarse. “The princess.”

“Dead,” he finally declared. “They – they tore her to pieces! Savages! All her fighting must’ve angried up their blood. I tried to get to her, even when it was too late, I couldn’t let them… let them take her, but those big ones, with their gaping mouths, they…” he swallowed, and then hung his head as low as he could manage. “There wasn’t much anything left, and then it was all I could do to escape myself.”

There was a strained moment of silence. He fought the urge to peek, until he heard a _thumping_ sound and the king’s aids rushed towards him. The old man had collapsed, though it didn’t look as though he’d fainted.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no.”

Roland bit back a smile.

 

~

 

The mushrooms whispered.

Thang nodded his head and, along with Stuff, hurried to deliver the message to the king.

“There’s an insured berry in the forest, Sire!” he announced.

From his place hunched over his throne, the Bog King turned a sharp eye towards him.

_“What?”_ he hissed.

 

~

 

TBC…

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I have some basic ideas about where this story is going to go, but I confess, it's a bit... loose. So feel free to shout out with anything you'd like to see spring from this basic premise!


End file.
